Half-Warm

Poured it out, a steamy promise

from the morning's careful heat.

But it was just a tepid solace,

a silent, slow, complete defeat.

The dented steel, it held its shape,

a silver shell, a steadfast friend.

But warmth, it seems, has no escape,

just dwindles to a bitter end.

A milky film on lukewarm brew,

a mirror of what could have been.

Another day, another view,

where coldness finds its way within.

I drank it anyway, a task,

this half-warm sip, a daily prayer.